


All That Glitters

by AsgardianAngels



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, melkor just wants to get laid, mostly comedy and fluff, smh cockblocking dragons, we needed some good baby dragon content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 17:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianAngels/pseuds/AsgardianAngels
Summary: One young drake eager to please takes a liking to the king's favorite maia (or maybe just his jewelry). Melkor isn't psyched about the troubles it's causing in his love life.





	All That Glitters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarsOverTheEast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsOverTheEast/gifts), [poe_tay_toe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poe_tay_toe/gifts).



> For my friends who insisted I contribute to the streak of baby dragon content they have going. I HOPE THIS SATISFIES YOUR NEEDS
> 
> a PSA: The 'soul-melding' referred to is a HC of mine about the bond Mairon and Melkor share, and is akin to astral projection of a sort. When they are in a state of utmost intimate trust and safety, their ëalar (the "real" them) can drift and meet each other in the unseen, non-tangible realm, but are still tethered to their fanar. It becomes much more difficult for Melkor to do once he is corrupted by the silmarils.
> 
> Also, why is it I imagine Gothmog talks like Drax from GOTG?

It started with a single earring. ‘Twas but a bauble, a trinket, really. Mairon noticed its absence, of course, but it was nothing worth fussing over. Even when it became a weekly raid of his jewelry box and pilfering of his forge, it could be forgiven, for Melkor would slip him back his belongings when they found a moment alone and no harm was done. But when it escalated to plucking the gold right from his very person, Mairon had had enough.

He knew they only sought to please their creator, whom they saw as father. They would scurry to him, climbing the throne and coiling their tails around his arm, then dropping their plunder into his lap with zeal. They held an inherent love of that which glittered, and an undying need for adoration and praise by him whose opinion mattered most. They were children, through and through. Mairon could not help, however, but confess his own role. The hatchlings were keen observers, and terribly clever. Not just any gold would do. They honed in on that which delighted their father most, and it was the maia by his side, a vision of golden splendor, shimmering with every step, every smile. There was gold in his flowing tresses, in the silk he wore and the ring upon his finger, there was even gold dust sprinkled on his skin like stars painting the night sky.

To a dragonet, he was like catnip.

After all, they only wished for their father’s pride and joy, and it was this which led to Mairon’s current, and growing, predicament. They had begun to hide in wait for the opportune moment to strike, dashing out to nab a specified target then retreating in an instant. Soon, Mairon could not trust that Melkor’s own robes were free of the beasts, and sure enough, when he would lean in for a much-awaited kiss, he felt tiny but sharp claws scuttle across his scalp and tug his circlet off and away. Another piece procured for the collection. Melkor would chuckle, but Mairon had stopped laughing some while back.

The last straw came one night soon after, when the couple was spending their desperately needed private time in their bedchamber. With all that required their attention these days, a chance to lie in each other’s embrace was fleeting and so all the more special. They were, consequently, relishing it, and thus it took Mairon quite some time to realize something was tugging on his foot, which was poking out from the sheets. He then felt the flicker of a wet tongue across the sole of his foot, and he knew it was not his husband, whose mouth was _most definitely_ accounted for. Opening his eyes, he was infuriated to see a dragonet of crimson hue with its teeth clamped firm around his anklet, frozen mid-yank like a deer in headlights upon being struck with Mairon’s piercing glare.

“Alright, I can’t do this,” he said, irate.

The sheets ruffled around and Melkor emerged, rather red-faced. “Something wrong?”

Mairon lifted his leg, taking the hatchling with it. “This has gone too far.”

When Melkor saw the object of his attention, his cheeks turned a deeper red. Sheepishly he removed the creature from Mairon’s jewelry and held it in his palm.

“I have no idea how he could have gotten in here, believe –” he stopped short when his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could suddenly see several pairs of glowing eyes watching him from every nook and cranny of the room. Mairon followed his stare and his jaw tightened when he spotted them too. He wriggled out from under Melkor and aggressively pulled the sheets around himself.

“Melkor,” he said, pursing his lips, “I cannot be intimate with you while _they_ are watching.”

The Vala’s shoulders dropped. “Hon, please, they’re harmless, I’m sure they don’t have a clue –”

“I want them gone. All of them. _Now_.”

Melkor opened his mouth to argue but knew it was futile. Reluctantly he grabbed his robe and tied it around his waist, then tediously gathered all of the young dragons onto his shoulders. He looked back once more at Mairon, who sat glowering at him from the bed. Neither of them liked unfinished business, but he supposed this one was on him. He shuffled uncomfortably down the winding halls and several flights of spiral stone stairs to drop off the hatchlings back with their brood. He should scold them for getting in the way of his love life, but he couldn’t bear to see them pout.

Melkor figured there was a fifty-fifty chance Mairon would not have waited up for him, and true to form when he returned the maia had dozed off. Checking the cupboards once more for stragglers and coming up empty, Melkor finally shrugged off the robe and crawled back in bed with a dejected sigh. Despite the night having taken an unforeseen turn, he grew content as he settled in next to his lover. Mairon shifted, turning over to nestle his head against Melkor’s chest. Melkor wrapped his arms around him, feeling that familiar warmth flood through him. He then heard Mairon’s voice, a mumble that drifted sleepily through his mind.

_Maybe next time, hmm?_

He smiled softly and kissed Mairon’s brow, nodding off soon after.

* * *

Melkor was not so lucky next time, either.

Mairon was beautiful beyond words, a radiant flower blossoming only for him, illuminating the dark corners of his soul and filling them with amber light. He leaned down and kissed him deeply, the taste of him like honey on his lips. Melkor began trailing kisses down his neck, so utterly absorbed in the intoxicating experience that he did not even register the faint padding of scaly feet upon his back. Only when Mairon yelped and pulled sharply away did he return to reality, and on the pillow was the same little dragon, now clutching a strand of fiery golden hair in his jaws triumphantly. Mairon looked up at him with a deadpan expression, and then proceeded to get out of bed, robe himself, and leave without a word, shutting the door behind him.

Melkor groaned and fell face-first into the mattress. The dragonet made a contented sound and let the hair fall onto the pillow, a treasure for his father. Melkor propped himself up on an elbow and faced the young thing, exasperated.

“You have got to stop ruining this for me. It’s been _weeks_ ,” he pleaded. The dragon simply quirked his head and tickled Melkor’s nose with his flicking tongue. He sighed. Another cold, lonely night.

Mairon, on the other hand, had a rather enjoyable rest of his evening roosting with Thuringwethil and gossiping about the king.

* * *

“Gothmog, I am entrusting you with this highly important task. You swore fealty to me when the world was young. Now, prove your loyalty.”

The balrog stepped forward to receive his assignment. Mightiest of the Valaraukar, he had fought for his lord in every war upon Arda, he had slain kings and brought empires to ruin, he struck fear into the hearts of –

Melkor handed him a dragonet.

He was, admittedly, confused.

“This little one is… very devoted to me. Follows me everywhere. He’s been harassing Mairon lately, and well…” he lowered his voice. “It’s caused a bit of a dry spell for us, if you get my meaning.”

Gothmog stared at him with his smoldering, unblinking eyes. Then he laughed, a deep bellow that shook the ground beneath them. “You mean he won’t put out,” he said. “That is most hilarious, sire.”

Melkor clenched his jaw. “Truthfully, it isn’t that fu – ”

“And here I was thinking you were going to finally let me lead a charge against Gondolin!” Gothmog chortled once more. Melkor stood waiting for him to finish, staring at the floor.

“Are you done?”

Gothmog cleared his throat. “Yes, your highness.”

“Just, keep him in here, and do not let him out of your sight. I have a chance tonight, and if Mairon catches sight of this rascal one more time I fear he may stop letting me touch him altogether.”

“Fear not, my lord, I think it is within my capabilities to handle one little drake!” Gothmog brought the creature to his eye level and stared at it, amused. “Go! Seduce your mate and give him a night to remember!” Again he laughed, and Melkor nearly lost his footing on the stone on his way out.

* * *

“Haha, you are a worthy opponent indeed!” Gothmog spun around attempting to catch the dragonet as he crawled along the balrog’s molten, cratered hide. “You will grow into a formidable adversary and serve your lord as I do, on the field of battle!”

Soon dizzy, Gothmog had to steady himself against the wall. He scanned the room for a sign of glinting scales but saw none. Turning, he noticed the heavy iron door open just a crack.

“Ah, bollocks.”

* * *

_Finally_ , sweet release. Melkor held Mairon close, their hearts beating in time. He was reluctant to come down from the high, that state of utter divine ecstasy where he could, if only for a few moments, transcend his mortal prison to reach out and touch Mairon’s spirit, be embraced by it and meld with it. The shared experience of becoming one in both body and soul that Melkor could have never dreamed of before Mairon. Quivering, he slid off of Mairon and let himself fall back into the sheets, still reeling as he gazed up at the ceiling. He could sense the sparks of electricity in the air, dancing and dissipating as Mairon regained full control of his raiment after his spirit had wandered beyond its confines.

Mairon opened his eyes, and breathed deeply. He found Melkor’s hand and wove their fingers together. “I missed that,” he murmured. “It’s been too long.”

Turning to lay on his side, he leaned in and kissed Melkor tenderly. Melkor sighed in bliss, and let his other hand wind its way up Mairon’s back, skin like silk, every inch a blessing he didn’t deserve. He cherished every moment of those lips upon his, felt incomplete without them. He owed Gothmog for taking that troublemaker off his hands long enough to mend his marriage.

Just then he heard a squeak, and from under the covers the dragonet popped up between them. Melkor froze. He had been so close to getting off scot-free, _so close_. At least he got off.

He waited for Mairon’s outburst. But none came. Instead, Mairon chuckled and patted the drake on the head.

“I suppose it is rather adorable,” he conceded. “Even though it seems determined to burgle my jewelry. Which one is this, dear?”

Melkor breathed a sigh of relief. He thought he’d be sleeping in the slave-pens for sure. Then again, post-coital Mairon always was more amenable.

“Smaug,” he replied. “I named him Smaug. The runt of the litter, but he seems to be making up for it in cunning, don’t you think?”

Mairon let the drake nibble on his finger playfully. “Yes, I’ll give him that. I think I could even come to like him, _if_ he can learn not to interrupt.” He tapped Smaug on the snout.

“I’ll put time personally into his training, since he’s shown promise.” Melkor watched as Mairon reached behind his head and carefully tugged loose a golden hair clip, then presented it as a peace offering to the creature. Smaug snatched it up, and tumbled around the sheets with it in his claws.

“Perhaps I will as well. He has taken a liking to me, after all. I can bestow upon him the gift of prose, of poetry. Of riddles, even. I’m sure he’d like that.”

Smaug was too busy looking at his reflection in the hair clip to pay attention.

“I think that just could be his favorite trinket yet.” Melkor grinned and watched.

“Well, you best make sure he takes good care of it. You made that one for me, eons ago.” Mairon ran his hands through his hair, letting it fall down over his shoulders.

“How could I forget?” Melkor pressed a kiss to his lips. With Smaug snug between them, they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_How could I forget_ , the aging drake thought to himself, buried deep in a mountain of plundered gold. There he had lain, stewing in his bitterness and old age, until he had naught else to occupy himself with but the memories of a life lost long ago. With effort he stretched, causing avalanches in his hoard, millions of coins running like rivers of gold. Still, they were nothing compared to the one treasure that mattered most. He had kept it all these years, hidden, stowed behind a loose scale on his breast. He could not, of course, check, for it was so very small, and he had grown much since those days of youth. But over time his skin had surely closed around it, keeping it safe, though perhaps at the cost of infection, which could weaken that one, tiny spot. He often felt a fool for holding onto such a trifle. Yet, even though he was well and truly alone, and had been for nearly two ages of the world, the dragonet inside him still remembered the one who taught him riddles, like liquid gold, so warm, and so very alive. Smaug dug his claws down into the towering piles of riches. Cold, no matter how deep he went. Cold, and colder still.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
